


Don’t Call Me Son

by Trekkele



Series: Trek Fest 2018 [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: 5 Times, Alien OCs are very useful bare with me, Because someone needs to be, Dadmiral Christopher Pike, Did you think I would let Pike die?, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mwahaha, Post Into Darkness, Starfleet Academy, Tarsus IV, Temporary Character Death, away missions gone wrong, dad!Pike, dont worry i'll drag them back from hell myself if i have too, i'll just add tags as they come up thanks, in case its necessary, no, uhh the rating is for langauge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-16 14:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14813015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trekkele/pseuds/Trekkele
Summary: George Kirk died minutes after his son was born. Growing up without a father doesn't mean he didn't have father figures. Unfortunately, they never seemed to work out well.AKA: Five times someone called Jim "Son", and one time it was ok.





	1. Frank Davis

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has existed practically since the first time I heard the song (of course it's from Hamilton, duh). I plan on finishing it in time for Trek Fest, which is in .. it's tomorrow.  
> Maybe posting the first chapter will mean I'll finally get around to editing all the other ones. They're mostly written just ... messy.  
> Enjoy!

In the beginning, he supposed, they both tried.

Or, to be more accurate with that, he _tried_ not to claw Franks eyes out and Frank _tried_ not to pay any extra attention to him. Which meant paying any attention at all.  


Uncle Frank hated him, and he didn’t know why. Because he didn’t hate Sam, and he didn’t hate his Mom, but he hated Jimmy and nothing about it made sense, because he hadn’t done anything _wrong_ . It wasn't his _fault_. 

He told himself that for weeks, until he couldn't remember what his mother looked like when she whispered that in his ear, until her perfume faded from the old StarFleet sweatshirt she'd given him, engine oil and honeysuckle and the sharp iron smells that came from beaming onto a starship.

He kept whispering that to himself long after he stopped believing it.

  


Winona never expected Frank to be happy about it, when she asked him, _begged him,_ to look after them. Just for the 12 month mission. She'd be a fool to refuse it, they all told her, since this one would, undoubtedly, lead to a promotion and a raise and her pick of assignments for the next time around.

(We'll find a Starbase. She promised. With a school that can actually challenge you properly and a college program Sammy will love and I'll come home to you every day and take you to see the engine rooms and show you how to reprogram a replicator so it makes hot chocolate with marshmallows.)  


(We'll be ok, Mom. he whispered, Sammy nodding over his shoulder. We can stay with Uncle Frank while you go save the galaxy or something.  


We'll be ok, Sammy ~~agreed~~. ~~lied~~. said.)

  


Uncle Frank was nice. At first. He smiled and laughed at Winona’s nervous energy, said "I'll be glad to take them" and "Don't you worry" and "It'll be nice to have company".

But then weeks turned to months and vid-calls became impossible and bruises can't be written into a comm the way words can.

He stopped whispering "it'll be ok".

  


Sammy runs away.

Except he's not _really_ running away, because he applied to an advanced program at Cal-Sci, and he got accepted (of course he did, of course he would, the Kirks might be a little crazy, but they ain't _dumb_ ). But Jimmy’s the one who told him to go, because Sammy’s to smart to be stuck on a farm in the back end of nowhere, where everyone knows your name and your grandfather and your family tree going back ten generations.  


And it's still three months till Winona comes home but promises start getting thinner when they pile up and you can see the patches where you’ve been lying to yoursel.

  


Boys get into fights all the time. No one questions a black eye or a bruised arm if you're beating up the other kids during recess. No one asks what's going on at home if you keep pulling straight A's, if you skip almost two years, if you correct the teachers Andorian grammar in the first class you take. (Even if you're screaming for someone to _look, pay attention to me!,_ they only ever see what's written on the pages you turn in.)

And then there’s an “old friend” in the kitchen who smells like car wax, who smiles at you the same way your teachers do. Be quiet and smart, but not too smart, be polite and helpful, but not too eager, be still, be still, they won’t notice you that way.

And then there are conversations you aren’t supposed to listen to, about buyers and antiques and things that are in “mint condition, I’m tellin ya, she still drove it sometimes”. And sometimes you wish you didn’t understand, sometimes you wish things didn’t come easy to you, but they do, you do.  


And then there's a dusty road that stretches longer than the stars and a corvette thats redder than your Moms engineering dress uniform and a cliff drop that makes your stomach thump to the beats and your heart _stops_ and you don't know, you never know,  if you meant to jump or not, but.  


  


But.

  


He's James Tiberius Kirk and he was born as a starship died, _the fuck_ is he giving up that easy. 

  


They take him down to the station. Of course they do, he just crashed an antique over the side of a quarry cliff and they don't know if was grand theft auto or suicide or just plain dumb.

He doesn't answer any questions, too late off an adrenaline crash that makes him want to curl up on top of the sheriff's desk and sleep until StarFleet signs a treaty with the Romulans. Except his Uncle is there and he feels like the punchline in those old cartoons - sure you won, but you’re still dressed up as duck in hunting season and the rabbits got a gun.  


Frank is smiling again, the same way he smiled 10 months ago when a year didn't seem too long to wait. Jim is standing, somehow, he's not really sure, but he's standing, Frank's hand heavy on his shoulder and squeezing just enough to keep him upright. Just enough to _hurt_ .  


  


"Come on son, lets get you home."

  


There are holo-vids, in the attic. The ones Sammy showed him on his birthday, because Mom had commed early and Frank obviously didn't care and someone else had to remind him he wasn't a complete waste of space. There's a blonde man who smiles like sunshine, and Jim never understood that expression, not really.

(Because Winona, Winona’s like the moon. Soft and sharp and a whole host of stars could never outshine her, bright and dark and something missing, but no one blames you for missing the sun.)  


But he does, he smiles like the sun, and he spins Sammy around like a starship as Mom laughs from behind the camera and Jim thinks he should be too young to understand that ache that means you’re missing something you never had, but here they are.  


  


Something inside him is broken, he thinks, hot and cold and even Sam leaving hadn’t reminded of how much he didn’t have and he can’t, he can’t go back now.

  


But it's just two months and she'll be back. She promised.

Kirk’s always keep their promises, she said. (He wonders if George had ever made that promise to Sam.)  


  


So he ducks out from under Franks arm and tries to remember how many bandages are left in the bathroom cabinets as he snarls over his shoulder,

  


"Don't call me son."

  



	2. Kodos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarsus wasn't always awful. That's what made it worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not sure I'm happy with this, but here, have it anyways.   
> let me know if you spot any mistakes.

Someday he's going to meet the god that has been playing his life as if it’s a fucking video game, and he swears he’s gonna punch that asshole so hard his divinity will crumble.

Yeah, that’s his working theory. Because, otherwise? Otherwise he just has the most shit luck on this side of the Asteroid belt, which is, you know, the more  _ likely _ explanation. But he’s not the most  _ rational  _ of beings right now, so the idea of having someone to punch and scream “fix this!” at some day is a nice little pipe dream. But for now all he can do is curse and scream and bite at whoever is dumb enough to come close.   


At least he know his kids are safe. There’s no way these idiots are smart enough to track them down, he made sure of that. The cave they were hiding in is in the opposite direction of where they caught him, because being a paranoid little shit, (annoying side effect of surviving a massacre, it turns out) he always made sure to take the most roundabout route possible. So instead of searching east, they would search west of the city, and hopefully Tom would figure out to keep them inside for the next few days. He would. Tom was smart, he’d be fine. The kids would be fine.  


Well. Not  _ fine _ , since they were still starving and traumatized and fucking scared and all, but alive. Alive was good. 

So when StarFleet finally dragged their asses here they would be alive. StarFleet would come, Winona would come, _ (she promised she promised she -) _ everyone would be alive. They had to be.

He knew they were still alive, because Kodos would have shoved their deaths in his face if he could. Instead he tried forcing their location out of him, he thinks they’ve been trying for five days now. He lost track.  


As if he could do anything to get him to talk. It should scare him, how  _ irrational  _ everything's become. How things that he never would have thought possible, like starvation and massacres and government sanctioned murder, have suddenly become perfectly normal parts of his life, things that he has to live through instead of learn about in history class. It should scare him, but he gave up on being scared a long time ago. He’s settled for being angry now.

But if he's right, and his internal clock is usually right, even when everything else about him is screwed up, it's about noon. Which means the Bastard Brigade is due for a visit.  


(He wonders when he became so indifferent to his own pain. He wonders if he was ever anything but. He stops wondering when the rabbit hole gets to deep. He doesn't think he has the strength to climb out)  


And, there we are, right on time! The stupid wooden door creaks open, and JT is just gonna assume this insane fucker designed his castle for the  _ effect _ , because seriously? No one even has doors like that anymore, huge and creaky and he wishes he could kick it.   


And now that he thinks about it, this should have been the first clue that something as seriously off with this guy. Come on, everyone should have noticed something was wrong the minute Kodos built a fucking castle. Honestly what the everloving fuck?? A castle! An honest to StarFleet castle!  


He also may or may not be delusional at this point, but hey. It’s not like he needs his brain for this next part, right?  


Flanked by two guards who looked more like giant blocks of wood than people, Kodos strides into the room as if it isn't a freaking jail cell, and he doesn't have a thirteen year old chained to the wall.  


When he does get outta here (because he's not dying now, not gonna give him the  _ satisfaction, _ no way) he's setting the whole place on fire.   


Kodos stands still for a minute, hands on his hips and surveying JT like he's a disappointment to his sad little empire of dirt. Which he is,  _ proudly. _   


"Oh son, it doesn't have to be like this." He sounds soft. Kind. Jim wonders of he'd ever trust those things again. Looks like they were playing this game today.

And what he’ll never admit (except maybe to the parts of himself he never lets anyone see, maybe when he’s stuck in sickbay and can’t even see the stars) that what bothers him most is that a couple of weeks (days, months, years) ago he would have been fine with that. That a couple of months (weeks, days, years) ago he would have loved to hear Kodos call him  _ son _ , because Kodos though he was so clever, so smart, so shiny, so worthy of his attention. So  _ worthy _ . Because Kodos would never hurt him, Kodos understood him, Kodos believed in him. (Until he became too much trouble, until his genetic profile came back  _ flawed _ , until Kodos thought maybe he would be an  _ exception _ ).  And now he just wishes it would stop.   


“I'm notcha son” glaring through a black eye and bloody bangs, he trips over the words, his breath getting stuck between them. He barely has enough energy left to force them out, can barely speak through his swollen jaw.  


Kodos slapped him, his head hitting the brick wall behind it with an angry thud. His face didn't change, still open and friendly and kindness was the most terrifying thing in the world right now, because half of JT’s head still whispered “trust him”. But the other half was too busy  _ screaming  _ to listen.   


"It didn't have to be like this, James. But you've left me with no choice."  


He loses track of how many days he’s chained up outside (“You’ll be a warning, James. So that everyone understands what’s at stake, what we are trying to accomplish”). He loses track of how many people almost die to get him something to drink (That’s a lie. Its four). He loses track of how many times Kodos has him whipped as a warning. (He passes out too many times to keep proper count). He doesn’t lose track of how many times he screams.  


When StarFleet finally comes, JT's throat is burnt raw.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK why this chapter was so hard to write. (Glares at it) Bitch.
> 
> Also, I fucking hate Kodos and I kind of hate how TOS almost made him a sympathetic character. Die in fire you bastard.


	3. Pike (Academy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chis may have been the worst godfather ever, but Jim deserved someone in his court. Especially at the Academy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter, it's basically my headcanon about academy era Jim. It was also the easiest to write, go figure.

If he wouldn’t be a Kirk, Jim would be everyone’s favorite student.    
Polite, respectful, and ridiculously intelligent, he cruised through most of his classes and completely threw himself into the ones that he didn't. For Asteria’s sake he even organized  _ study groups  _ in his free time.    
None which explained why he was stuck in Chris's office while a professor railed into him about entitlement and ego. Chris didn't think he'd ever seen someone sulk so eloquently while standing at perfect attention.   
  
To be honest, when Chris had peeled him off the bar room floor he'd been expecting a lot more of these meetings to happen. Instead Jim blew them away with his entrance exam results and academic history, leaving Chris with an intense desire to go back in time, punch himself in the face, and apologize for assuming Jim was just a good for nothing drunk cruising through life on his father’s pension.  Especially since said pension apparently  _ didn't exist _ . (he knew better than to ask Winona about it. God knows she probably spent enough time trying to sort it out)   
Which was neither here nor there, because unfortunately most people heard Kirk, expected a carbon copy of George, and were inevitably disappointed when Jim made it very obvious that  _ Winona _ was the one to raise him.    
And Winona was a lovely person, Chris adored her and her relentlessly sarcastic commentary on everything and everyone, but she was also ... Winona. And not George. Although he had the sneaking suspicion that most people didn't realize that George had been more of a clumsy, kind-hearted nerd, with a penchant for trouble and a disturbing affinity for chaos, and not the stoic model officer everyone thought. If he had been, Chris doubted he and Winona woud have ever gotten very far.

Because Winona was...well, the first time he’d met her she was completely hammered and yet had managed to hack into a really nasty professors emails to rearrange his schedule so that he’d be late for all his meetings by 15 minutes. Annoying, but harmless, and endlessly entertaining for those who knew what was going on. The best part being that Winny wasn’t entirely sure how she’d done it when she was sober.   
  
But people were always going to see George when they looked at Jim. Jim had said it himself. But honestly, if this were any other student, the professor would have been dragged out of his office and suspended for a clear bias against him. Unfortunately, it was Jim, polite, respectful, but completely unable to _ not _ offer help and opinions, and hey he knew a easier way o do that, amy I?  It was weird combination but he somehow charmed it into making it work.    
So you either loved him or hated him. And half a dozen new rumors seemed to crop up every week for reasons to hate him. (Chris tried not to listen to them, since most of them made him want to punch something.)   
Surprisingly, Jim kept his head down as much as possible and didn't acknowledge any of them, except maybe to laugh and shake his head.    
Or maybe not so surprising. After all, as much as he called him a kid, Jim still had two doctorates and multiple degrees and more papers published on subjects Chris could barely pronounce. Apparently that's what happened when a genius has free time on his hands.    
He supposes it was better than the alternative.   
But right now, Jim’s tactical history professor was semi-shouting about disrespect and smart-ass assignments and how having a famous last name shouldn't have an affect on how a cadet is treated.    
Chris  _ wanted _ to point out how the only one treating Cadet Kirk differently because of his name was Professor St’tret, he  _ wanted _ to kick some idiot Admirals ass about the academic probationary periods that kept him from testing out of this class, he  _ wanted _ to remind all of them that Jim had, so far, not done anything wrong, but he had a feeling it wouldn't go over well. And the backlash would inevitably fall on Kirk, because apparently the kid couldn't catch a break.    
  
Which left him with an angry professor, a furiously pissed off Cadet, and absolutely no idea how to handle this.   
Where was Number One when he needed her?   
Right, off captaining her own ship,  _ finally _ . Guess he'd have to deal with this himself.    
  
"Thank you," he interrupted the professor midstream, standing up from his chair. "But I believe I understand the situation. Let me take it from here professor, I'm sure you're a very busy man." He smiled, hoping St'tret wouldn't insist on Chris deciding Jim's punishment while he was there. Especially since Chris didn't plan on punishing Jim, at least not until he'd gotten the full story.

  
Thankfully, the Cheo'rtan simply hissed his agreement and marched out of the office, tail waving aggressively.   
  
Sighing, he dragged a hand down his face and dropped back into his chair, staring up at the ceiling. Why StarFleet insisted on grey for offices, he'd never know.   
"Ok Kirk, what happened"   
Kirk, to his credit, fell into parade rest and kept staring directly over Chris's shoulder. Which was not the reaction Chris wanted, but he'd take that over the barely controlled anger he'd been expecting.   
It worried him sometimes, the amount of emotional control Kirk had.   
  
"During today's lecture we were discussing necessary or inevitable sacrifices in the feild, and I suggested that instead of teaching command cadets just about tactics and the importance of sacrifice, we teach them how to avoid situations that could lead to unnecessary deaths." Stone cold and unwavering, Jim's explanation covered St'tret's annoyance, but not the professors (quite frankly) over the top reaction.    
  
"Oh, so you criticized his curriculum, fair enough, I guess that's how most of us would endear ourselves to the people grading them. Was that all?" He meant it sarcastically, hoping Jim would at least see some humor in the situation, but then Jim dropped his chin and stared him in the eyes.    
Apparently that was not all. Great.   
  
"When the Professor asked what I could possibly mean, I provided him with multiple examples, some of which led to policy changes, most of which didn't." Apparently he was going to have to drag this out of the Kirk piece by piece. He waved for him to continue, and Jim paused, taking a deep breath.    
This was bothering him way more than Chris had expected.   
  
"I may have included that fact that while Cadets are taught how to override a malfunctioning auto-pilot, they are not taught how to repair it, something which can usually be done with a simple bypass."   
  
Shit. Oh gods, is he serious right now? Chris isn't sure if he should laugh at the _ sheer audacity  _ of James T Kirk, or cry over the fact that he had obviously extensively researched his own  _ father’s _ death. Because of course he had. Gods, but this kid was going to break his heart.   
  
"Professor St'tret took offense, assuming I was accusing StarFleet for being responsible for my f- George Kirk's death, despite the fact that I never mentioned him, and when I denied that, he called me arrogant and said that calling one of StarFleets greatest heroes competence into question would not endear me to anyone, and only proved that I was an ungrateful idiot who criticized my father while coasting by on his reputation."  _ Asteria's crown _ , was  _ this _ what the kid had been dealing with? From his professors? Forget his reputation, heads would roll.   
"When I again tried to explain that I was referring to a different incident entirely, and that the enemy ship had completely destroyed every system except the manual pilot, and that George Kirk was trained, and would have been able to repair the auto-pilot if that option existed. Unfortunately the conversation got...loud, and he accused me of insubordination and contempt of rank, and dragged me here. Sir"   
  
What he got from all that, asides the overwhelming desire to punch something, was, “I tried to start an open debate regarding tactical training and it devolved into a shouting, match with my fairly high ranking professor. Who happens to be a George Kirk groupie and incidentally seems to hate me.” Well.    
Chris spent a good fifteen seconds just staring at Jim, dozens of questions and observations working their way around the absolutely shocked expression he was certain he was wearing right now. Jim had studied his father’s actions, trying to find an alternative, any way, that would have allowed him to survive. How old had he been? Had he read all the reports? Had he listened to the recovered recordings?   
  
"Ok. Ok, I could see how that got out of hand. Fuck kid, you don't do anything halfway do you?"   
  
Normally that would get a smirk and "Don't know how, sir" or at least a cheeky salute, but Jim was still standing at parade rest, blue eyes hard and mouth settled in grim line.   
  


He tried to settle for kindness, hoping Jim wouldn’t mistaken it for pity, because if there was one thing Jim didn’t need right now it was pity.    
"Look, son, I can understand why you reacted as you did, but- "   
  
An apparently he'd lost control of the conversation (again), because Jim flinched, eyebrows snapping down and mouth twisting up into a snarling mess of teeth and  _ there,  _ there was the anger he'd expected.   
  
And suddenly Chris could see him on the bridge of a starship, red alert and photon torpedoes loaded, and realized that there was far more George Kirk in him than either cared to admit.   
  
"I'm not your son" he hissed, raw and quiet and more vulnerable than Chris thought he'd ever  seen him.   
  
They stared at each other, one irrationality angry over the things he couldn't control, and the other stunned by the animosity a simple phrase could set off.    
  
"No," Chris acknowledged, slowly realizing that the growing ache in his chest was directly related to the amount of pain Jim Kirk was showing. "You're not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things: Jim lashes out suddenly because of how stressed out he is by this whole situation, he's just good at hiding it (till it becomes too much).   
> I figure George Kirk is kind of like Thor, he looks like a super serious officer dude, but c'mon his brother is LOKI. (Winona would be a god of chaos, fight me)  
> Also, I have an irrational love for Winona Kirk, so in general she's never a bad guy in my stories.
> 
> Umm, that's all for now. Thanks for reading!


	4. Away Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enemies sometimes wear a familiar face. They probably should have chosen someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spock is...not easy to write. He also calls Jim "Captain" too much.

Spock wondered, briefly (illogically) if his brother Sybok had been correct. If somewhere in the universe lived a particularly malevolent god, one that had an inexplicable grudge against the Captain.   
Or maybe he truly just had "shit luck", as the Captain would say.   


As always, what had started as a simple away mission took an unexpectedly dramatic turn when the natives had surrounded them, detaining every member of the away team. Captain Kirk, however, had managed to draw his phaser and targeted the leader, avoiding getting pushed to his knees and keeping a slight advantage over the party they had thought they were here to negotiate with. Maybe negotiation meant something else on this planet.  
It appeared that the natives had a mild sort of telepathy, and the uncanny ability to shift their outer appearance. A fascinating biological evolution, one that explained why they carried no weapons - confusion was their preferred method. After all, one couldn't be certain you weren't going to accidentally shoot their own brother, or merely an imitation. Under other circumstances, Spock could have spent days studying the evolutionary steps necessary to provide a species with the ability to change their faces at will, in a manner not dissimilar to the Earth species chameleon. Unfortunately, it didn't seem likely that such an opportunity would present itself.   
It appeared the species in question prefered to imitate family members, such as a brother or father, as the case may be.   
Even if George Kirk wasn't the subject of several tactical lectures, even if his sacrifice wasn't held as the ultimate show of bravery, and loyalty, to StarFleet, there would be no mistaking the relation between the Captain and him.   
The likeness was uncanny, blue eyes gentle and a permanent smile teasing just beyond his lips.   
The Captain seemed completely frozen in the face of someone he undoubtedly knew, yet had never gotten to meet. Thankfully, he kept his phaser up, even if his aim wavered a bit when the alien began to speak.   
Spock wondered about the extent of the species telepathic abilities. Did they know that George Kirk was meant to be dead? Did they know that given a minute to think, the Captain would see through their charade? Did they need more than a minute? Could their telepathy influence thoughts as well as read them? So many questions...   
His mind constantly processing what little information he could observe and connecting it with what he had, he paused to look at the Captain's face.   
And all his calculations stopped, screeching to a halt.

 

Spock had chosen to serve under Captain Kirk for a number of reasons. Nyota, for one, although he would only admit to such blatant emotionalism under extreme duress. And Kirk, for another. He’d had ample time to observe the Captain on the journey back to Earth, traveling under impulse power and with a crew of highly trained but severely traumatized and inexperienced Cadets. However, the crew displayed remarkable fortitude, and operated at maximum efficiency, an unprecedented circumstance which he believed to be entirely at Jim Kirk’s credit. Spock observed how he spent his spare time working in whatever department needed him, working alongside his “crew”, reserving only the bare minimum of his time for rest, and never sleeping more than three hours in a row. Every department he spent time in increased their productivity by about 12%, allowing the Enterprise to return faster than originally calculated, as well as having several major repairs completed.

Kirk fascinated him, a bundle of contradictions, intelligence, and seemingly irredeemable flaws.  While Spock could be useful on New Vulcan, or even at the Academy, or StarFleet command, he believed that he could learn more from serving under Captain Kirk.

Logically, of course, Spock knew the Captain was younger than him. His appointment was unprecedented, his Captaincy rewarded under extraordinary circumstances.

But in all his time spent with the Captain, he'd never seen him look this _young_. He’d never been so forcefully reminded that Captain Kirk, for all his genius, was almost a _child_ by Vulcan standards.  Eyes wide and staring, he looked ... lost.

And Spock realized in hindsight, that no matter the situation, Kirk had always managed to look as though he was in complete control. Even thrown over a workstation, being choked by a Vulcan, he'd never lost the calculating, "I’m three steps ahead and you simply don't know it yet" look in his eyes.  
Dr. McCoy was struggling, muffled by the efforts of the native holding him, who gave up, finally stuffing material in his mouth and hissing a warning in his ear.   
Evidently, they did know the effect George Kirk’s face would have on Jim, and for a moment Spock hated them for rendering his Captain so hopeless.   
  
Which was, of course, when the facsimile of George Kirk started speaking.   
  
"Hey kid. Didn't expect to see me here did you?" He - It - took a step forward, hand stretching out to the Captains phaser, but Captain Kirk took a careful step back, matching it's stride so they stayed equally distant from each other.   


"Release my men. And than drop whatever skin you're wearing. "  
  
The leader, "George Kirk", smiled gently, softly, looking so hopelessly kind, so hopelessly like his Captain that Spock allowed himself to be fooled, for only a moment, and wondered, for only a moment, if they could impersonate his father, what would they say?   
  
"Now son." it continued gently, "let’s not do anything rash..."  


Spock could see the exact moment their plan failed completely. The Captain - Jim - stiffened, and his eyes narrowed, darkening to a pool of blue fire, and Spock remembered the old stories his mother used to tell, of heroes and gods and how dangerous the anger of a kind man could be. He felt a shiver creep up his spine, irrational in the planets tropical climate.  
  
"Don't call me son"  the Captain all but growled, and suddenly George Kirk fell away, leaving only a fallen planetary native and the fading ring of a phaser shot in his place. Taking the opportunity as it was presented, the security officers broke free and within minutes the landing party had subdued their would-be captures.   
  
The captain stood over the leader, the one who had worn his father’s face, eyes still cold, still far away. He turned, holstering his phaser and flicking open his communicator in one smooth movement.   
  
"Five to beam up Mr. Scott"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, i have no idea what to do with the next chapter. It just won't go where it's supposed to Damn It.  
> Also, I think the last chapter should be Bones POV. That could be fun.


	5. Alexander Marcus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd thought the end would be more dramatic. 
> 
> But here he was, begging for the life of his crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever written something and then stared at it so long that you hated it?  
> {Points at this chapter} I have.
> 
> Quotes are almost all from canon, except for the one I added for drama.

“Admiral Marcus. I wasn’t expecting you.”

That was a lie.

Next time, he was going to trust his crew over a man who promised him vengeance. He should have seen this coming, he _had_ seen this coming, he just wanted the blood off his hands more than he’d wanted the truth.

He was paying for that now.

 

“Why else would the head of StarFleet personally come to the edge of the neutral zone?”

That was bait.

Marcus took it, of course. By completely avoiding the question, by scanning his ship, by jumping straight to the real reason he was here. Khan.

 

“Well as per StarFleet regulation I’m planning on returning Khan to Earth to stand trial.”

And that was him, messing up.

 

Except he knew exactly what he'd done, using Harrison's real name. Khan was nothing more than a story, a legend, a myth told by campfires after the counselor had gone to bed. Left over from a time before the Genetics War, he'd only use the name if Harrison himself had said something.

So yes, he knew exactly what he’d done. He also knew that Marcus was either complicit or guilty or behind the whole fucking thing, and the only way to find out was to pretend he knew nothing.

People underestimated him. They saw a pretty face and a shiny ship and thought _Poster-boy_ , _PR stunt_ , they thought _brat with Daddys credit_. And while a part of him thought they might be right, he did his job and he did it well. He never gave them any reason to look closer, and so they never did.

At least 50% of the current admiralty assumed his success, and the success of his missions, was solely due to the efforts of his crew, and while they weren't _wrong_ , Jim would be the first to admit that, they also seemed to forget that a ship can’t really function without a decent captain.

 

That didn’t bother him. Or if it did, it didn’t matter, because he was used to it. He’d always either been _George’s boy_ , or _Frank’s brat_ , or that Kirk kid, the one who’s sleeping through the academy.

Because you graduate at the top of your class by skipping class and getting drunk. Idiots.

So yes, he was a little bitter. Maybe.

 

He was used to it, it didn’t bother him, he could lie to himself about all that. But when it came down to it, he knew exactly how to play people, how to manipulate them into thinking they have the upper hand, and then letting them push themselves into a corner while he stood back and watched.

Bones called it cat and mouse. Jim considered it a necessary survival skill.

Pike would have called it politics.

 

Which left him here, feeding Marcus information and watching for a reaction, any reaction.

Because he wanted to know exactly what Marcus was willing to do, to cover his own tracks, to bury the extent of his corruption. And he really didn't like the answer.

 

“Give him to me, so that I can end what I started.”

He’d heard this before.

He knew this, knew this story, how it was going to play out, how people would die, yes, but _really James, they were going to die anyways. We simply gave them a peaceful death._

4,000 “unworthy”. 72 “augments”. Simulations, battles, _no win scenarios,_ where people think they have the right to decide who lives and dies and _suffers_ , just because they’re scared. Or powerful.

Or in Marcus’s case, _fucking insane._

 

“He’s playing you son, can’t you see that?”

Someone was playing him. He wasn’t sure it was Khan anymore. He wasn’t sure it was Marcus either.

 

“It’s our duty to carry out that sentence”

War criminals. He knew that. He also knew how far he’d been willing to go to survive. How far he was willing to push his own muddy morals if it meant saving his crew. And duty was a tricky thing. So easy to confuse with your own agenda.

 

“Lower your shields”

So he got his answer, and Marcus showed his hand, and now his whole crew was in danger, Carol was being beamed onto the Vengeance, and they were dead in space with a shipload of torpedoes aimed at them.

And Marcus kept calling him **_son._ **

 

Even if he'd done everything _right..._ They never could have predicted this.

 

* * *

 

A small, very small part of him is glad that Pike never got to see how this played out. Because here he was proving that everything he'd been accused of was true.

Reckless and arrogant and he was going to get his crew killed, all because he wanted to see how far Marcus could be pushed before he decided to burn it all. He thought he’d still had a few inches, but Marcus had snapped early.

If he hadn’t already.

 

He’d played himself. Backed into a corner. Between Marcus and Khan and _he had no choice._

 

“...In league with the terrorist John Harrison”

Well. If he dies, at least he was guilty of something. Desperate times and all that.

And Marcus, fucking Marcus, was busy smirking at him over the phaser, so sure that he could still control this situation.

 

“You're not going to kill me son. You haven't got it in you”

 

“Call me son one more time,” he hadn’t sounded like that in a very, _very_ long time, and he could see Scotty flinch away from the corner of his eyes, and for a second he was glad that he’d taken a phaser locked onto stun, “and _I just might_.”

 

Except _Mother-Fucking Khan._

“You should have let me sleep”

 

Amen to that. When this was over he was resigning, because he clearly couldn’t make any decent decisions without Pike around.

 

* * *

 

Dying hurt like hell. He knew that, he’d learned that already, he thought that he’d dealt with all this, that watching Spock fall apart wouldn't hurt so much, that seeing Uhura, brave brilliant Uhura cry _wouldn't hurt,_ because after all this time, he still couldn't lie to anyone as well as he lied to himself.

A small consolation, he thought, was that Bones wouldn't have to see this. He didn't think he could take it if Bones were here. He hoped he’d forgive him. It isn't good to die with a grudge against you.

It hurt, watching his crew, his family, fall to pieces, just because of him.

Living though...living had hurt more. He wondered if they’d forgive him. His crew. He wondered if the screaming in his head would stop, if the people he’d failed would be waiting for him.

 

Don't worry, he wanted to whisper, you’ll be fine.

 

But someone, something was whistling in his ear, echoing through the warp core.

 

 _“Let go, son. It’s ok,_ let go _. We’ll catch you this time”_

 

So he did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I firmly believe that Jim was playing Marcus in the first Vengeance scene, and after watching that scene close to six times for "research" I still think that. No really, if you watch it while looking for those tiny tells, twitches, emphasis on certain words, it really does look like Jim is manipulating Marcus as much as Khan manipulates him.  
> Which is awesome, because Marcus is a dick. And I swear Jim flinches every time he calls him son.
> 
> One chapter left, in which I raise a giant middle finger to canon and JJ Abrams. Mr. Abrams, I respect your casting decisions, but past that you get almost zero credit.  
> *Grabs Amanda Greyson, Christopher Pike, and the planet Vulcan*  
> How dare you hurt these angels


	6. Pike (Post-Khan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.
> 
> What a stupid phrase. Jim wishes he never knew what loving, what losing, a father felt like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kicks down the freezer door, grabs Pike by the uniform collar, and drags him out*  
> Not so fast, mister.

Len had never been good with feelings. Which was ironic, considering his psychology degree, but not that ironic, considering his divorce. People had always been shocked, back at the academy, since they'd expected the grumpy southern doctor to get tired of Jim and his shenanigans, and give him the boot long before graduation.

Len had always been shocked when Jim, the actual embodiment of sunshine, stuck around as long as he did. Of course, now there was no chance of him letting Jim go anywhere without him.

 So he did what he could, stuck to their usual routine of poking each other and teasing in a way that _just_ wasn’t cruel, but only if you knew them. (Nyota thought it was cute. Apparently she had five sisters).

 He hadn't let himself believe that Jim was alive, that he was back, until that damn eyebrow quirked and he turned back to thanking Spock. They didn’t thank each other. They’d never needed to.

 (Uhura got a set of earrings and a small pot of flowers that had been native to Vulcan. They bloomed a deep red and gold).

(Bones got a bottle of bourbon delivered to his door that no one ever claimed.)

 But Jim wasn’t ok, he wasn’t going to be ok, not for a very long time. The guilt would bury him, and he’d pretend he could breath from six feet under.

 Which left him in a very difficult position.

On one end, the shock of this could set Jim back almost a week. On the other hand, letting him think he’d missed a funeral that had never happened was worse. Watching him pretend he was ok, that he wasn’t slowly slipping without one of his oldest anchors there…

 Len had to take it slow, or… well. They'd lost him once.

He hadn’t even had a chance to figure out how to break the news, since he’d spent the last fourteen days keeping Kirk away from the edge, sleeping in his office for no more than three to four hours at a time, updating Spock, updating the Admiralty, updating Winona and Sam and trying not to fall apart.

 Jim’d been out of his coma for twenty-four hours before Leo figured out how to break the news gently. Well. As gently as possible, given the circumstances.

 “Blood pressure leveling out, breathing is good, you might actually survive this, kid.”

 “Your confidence in your own abilities is such a comfort to me Bones. I don’t know why people complain about your bedside manner, really I don't”

 “Shut up kid. Here hold this.” Len handed him a padd, conveniently open to the file he needed, desperately needed, Jim to see. It was a dirty trick, maybe, but it would work.

Bones knew Jim better than he knew himself some days. The kid had more curiosity than a cat in henhouse, and it took him all of three seconds to start scrolling through the file on screen, screw confidentiality. As if Bones would ever hand him something classified. It took another five seconds before he realized what he was scrolling through, and the Doctor could tell by the way he froze, eyes blanking, that the penny dropped.

That was the thing about Jim. He was always moving, even in the tiniest ways. Hands ruffling his hair, head tilting to the side, bouncing in place while reviewing repairs, fingers twiddling over controls. The only time he was ever completely still was when he was unconscious. Or temporarily dead.

“What is this Bones?” Jim’s voice was quiet, calm. He sounded like he was discussing the weather.  Len was sure that he was _this close_ to completely losing it.

 “Hmmm?,” Len filled a hypo with the blood pressure meds Jim would need to be on for at least two more weeks. Damn radiation. “Before we left, didn’t you get a chance to read the file on the Daystrom attack? On Pike?”

 “Read his file?,” Jim huffed, moving as though he was going to throw the padd, but aborting at the last second and glancing at it, almost as though he was scared of what might be on it.

 “Yeah. The official report.” Jim was incredibly distracted, he didn’t even flinch dramatically as Len hypo’d him.

 “Pike died. Bones.” He dropped the padd, picking at the blanket with his head down. “Marcus said he’d died. They couldn’t save him. Kahn killed him. Marcus... _Marcus_.” Jim’s voice trailed off into a whisper, eyes wide as he looked up at Len so fast he could feel a sympathy cric in his neck from the whiplash.

 “Jim... “

Jim scrambled for the padd, weakly dragging it back onto his lap. His hands were shaking too much to grip it properly.

 The report was already open on the screen. Jim frantically scrolled through it, skimming the damage report and the casualty list and turning back to Leonard with his eyes wider than Joanna’s that time he bought her a puppy (out of spite, but she hadn’t known that). He was mouthing something, lips moving with no sound coming out, finally rasping out

 “He’s not on the list, Bones. He’s not on the list, he’s not here, what happened to him, Bones Bones!”

 His heart rate was going up to fast, damn it. This was the kindest option, yes, but no matter what he’d done, finding out Pike was alive, and that Marcus’s manipulation went deeper than either of them had guessed, would have caused considerable distress.

 “Jim I need you to calm down. I need you to breath.”

 Jim was gasping, grabbing at his arm as it if it was his only anchor, the only reason he hadn't yet drowned in the white hospital sheets.

“Breath for me, come on now, it’s ok”

 Jim was crying. No, Jim was sobbing, falling apart in a way that Len had never seen before. He hoped he’d never see it again.

 He rubbed circles on his back, slowly, softly, murmuring the nothings you say when someones is clearly coming apart. He wondered when was the last time Jim had let himself go like this.

Probably never.

 

Len was a doctor. He was a firm believer in the importance of science, of medicine, of testing everything twice and then one more time. But if he’d would admit to any superstition, it would be this: that sometimes the universe is kind. Sometimes it gives you a second chance even when you might not deserve one. Sometimes people who died come back to life.

That sometimes you can believe in miracles.

 

* * *

 

As much as he wanted to give them privacy, Jim was still recovering from being _fucking dead,_ and Pike had suffered a rather nasty chest wound. Dr. Boyce had even convinced him to use a cane again, damn stubborn fool.

 “Admiral,” Jim greeted him, stiff was he could be while loungng in a wheelchair, muscles still too weak to stand at attention. Damn it, sometimes the kid had the emotional range of a teaspoon. Specifically when it came to father figures. Or more accurately, dead father figures. Or recently not-dead father figures.

 “Jim” Pike was just as bad, _fucking hell,_ was he going to have to intervene? Nope, nuh-uh, they were gonna have to figure this out on their own, he was absolutely not holding anyone's hand while they sang kumbaya and made daisy chains.

 “Admiral, I -”

  _“Jim.”_

 Pike dropped down in front of the chair, the both of them silhouetted against the picture window he’d made sure Jim would have in his room. So he could see the stars at night. Sunlight was good for him.

 

“It’s ok, kid, it’s ok. I’m here”, Jim was tucked up against Chris’s shoulder, hands curled into the fabric of his uniform. Sometimes they all just forgot how _goddamn young_ they were.

 

 _“Dad.”_ he choked, sobbing around such a tiny, simple word. _”_ You were _gone_ . Chris, you were gone, I thought...I lost you, _Chris_ ”

 Len would probably deny this till the day he finally kicked it, but there were teardrops scattered on his padd.

 “It’s ok, I’m here, we made it, kid, we’ll be _ok_ ”

 “No.” Jim laughed, a little hysterical but who was he to judge? “No we’ll be fucked up and broken and angry, but we’ll be _alive_ ”.

Funny, he’d heard Jim use that phrase before. It sounded like he was quoting someone.

 Pike cradled Jim’s face, flushed and tearstained, turning it to face him.

  
“Yeah. We will.”, he agreed, voice breaking and softer than Len had ever heard him sound. “We’ll be fucked up and angry, and _healing_. But we’ll be ok, son. We’ll be ok”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Pokes canon* What a horrible looking beastie! Such a pity it's gone extinct!  
> Yes, this is how I headcanon Pikes "death". Because I am opposed to the killing of any characters, ever. JJ, you can wait in the corner while you think about what you've done.  
> (also, that line Jim "quotes" is from my fic Laugh Lines. It's pretty good XD)
> 
> This fic is the longest thing I've ever written, and most of it was written in under a week. Wow.  
> Thank you all for reading! All your comments and kudos where greatly appreciated!
> 
> Oh yeah, and I don't own Star Trek. If I did, ....well. I could write an essay on that.

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many fics planned out, please help.
> 
> I would like to thank naptime, and also G-d, for the completion of this fic.
> 
> And by "naptime" I mean coffee. So much coffee.


End file.
